Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Antique Conversation Piece

I agree with the woman who said Art is a state it doesn't need to be an accomplishment.Last night an eagle spread it's wings and revealed a sexually charged boyI heard continuous, even drumming.Around the boy's thigh, like a bracelet, tattooed:Aurifica Ego ReginaWe were lovers when he moved in.The eagle said I don't want to wake up or kill you.I became afraid when the boy flew.I have filthy dreams of unclean rooms and dirty dishes.The boy was my best friend --He, the boy, was a displacement, a poet.I viewed him as a brother.A dog had been sleeping.I had to talk him out of sexual advances.A wolf penetrating a dog with a shaft of lunar light.I told him if I went up the stairs I would be a dead man walking.This was difficult.He, the boy, pulled a gun on me when I refused to have sex.He didn't want to wake me.Pure, and simply, he insisted he had witnessed a celestial penetration.It was hard for me to move the heavy furniture.When I opened his chest I was told I was bad.I sleep continually in a tremble.These are my final days.Love is possessive.These emotions have been purged.I wish him no animosity.We were best friends.Delect me, embrace me.